


Seven Minutes

by sammyatstanford



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Frottage, Shy Jared, Underage Jared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 09:24:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3441920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammyatstanford/pseuds/sammyatstanford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s heard of this game before. Seven Minutes in Heaven. Heard of it, but never played it. It’s not exactly something the members of the debate team get up to in their free time. The theatre kids probably do, but he’s just a freshman and he hasn’t even gotten cast in a show yet, much less made it to an after party. So no, he’s never played.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> Orignally posted on [Tumblr](http://sammyatstanford.tumblr.com/post/95921122261/seven-minutes).

Jared huffs and tries to brush his slightly damp bangs off of his forehead. He’s sweating, so they’re starting to get curled up and frizzy and itchy around his eyebrows. He should probably take off his hoodie, but all he’s wearing underneath is a worn thin t-shirt that he’d never normally wear in public. He hadn’t exactly known he’d end up at some party with kids from the high school across town when he went to sleep over at his friend’s that night.

A cheer goes up around him, and Jared shifts uncomfortably where he’s wedged himself into the corner of the couch, pressing the bones of his knees together. He knows he should probably be paying attention to what’s going on, should also probably track down Chad and make sure he’s okay, but he feels awkward and out of place and uncomfortable and he just really, really wants to go home but his mom would  _kill_  him if she knew where he was right now.

A girl stumbles in front of him, giggling as she almost falls into his lap and says something that sounds a lot like “Purr sticks!” over the music thrumming in the background.

“What?” he asks, a little bewildered.

She laughs again. “Six!” she repeats. “You’re number six, don’ forget!” And then she’s moving away, counting off people around what he realizes is a loose circle that’s formed up while he hasn’t been paying attention.

Before Jared can ask someone what’s going on, another person is plunking a board down on the table in front of him. It’s from the Game of LIFE. Jared recognizes it because they sometimes play it at family game night.

“John first!” the same tipsy girl hollers, and she shoves a guy who is leaning casually against the entertainment stand like he won’t knock the ten thousand dollar TV onto the floor if he shifts wrong. Not that he looks like he’s prone to tripping all over himself like Jared is. No, where Jared is skinny and gangly and doesn’t know where his legs end and his arms begin, this guy is muscled and thick, like he probably plays something defensive on the football team.

The guy, John, chuckles as he takes a step forward, reaches down, and spins the plastic spinner into a rainbow blur with a flick of his wrist. It whirs loud enough to be heard over the music, before ticking to a stop. Number nine. The gathered crowd lets out a little  _oooh_.

“Carrie!” tipsy-girl shrieks, pulling up a blonde who’s perched on the edge of an armchair. She makes little shooing motions toward the front hall with her hands. “Let’s go, lovebirds!” John and Carrie are sort of laughing and sort of looking anywhere but at each other. Tipsy herds them a few steps, when Jared finally realizes where they’re going.

_Oh._

His breath gets stuck in his throat as he watches Tipsy push the pair into the hall closet. “Your seven minutes starts noooowwww!” she singsongs as she pulls the door closed behind them.

_Oh._

Jared resists the urge to squirm as he tries to subtly clear his throat. He can feel his cheeks burning, not just from the heat now, and he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself.

He’s heard of this game before. Seven Minutes in Heaven. Heard of it, but never played it. It’s not exactly something the members of the debate team get up to in their free time. The theatre kids probably do, but he’s just a freshman and he hasn’t even gotten cast in a show yet, much less made it to an after party. So no, he’s never played.

Never actually kissed anyone, for that matter.

He swallows thickly around the nonexistent obstruction still lodged in his throat. He should get up now. He should get up and move and go somewhere—anywhere—else. But moving would be worse, wouldn’t it? Would draw attention to him, would make all these kids realize he was too chickenshit to play some stupid party game. He knows he shouldn’t care what these kids think. They don’t even go to the same school! But for some reason he just can’t seem to move himself off the couch.

Someone must have a watch, because there’s warnings shouted through the door every few minutes, and then eventually the group starts counting down loudly from fifteen. When they get to one, there’s whistling and catcalling as Tipsy opens up the closet door. John steps out proudly, looking mussed and clearly enjoying the approval of his peers, while Carrie slinks out a little more slowly, her cheeks pink but the smile on her face smug.

“Spin again!” someone in the group yells, and the crowd continues to cheer.

Jared hunches down in his seat, slips his hands into his hoodie sleeves, and hopes for anything but a six.

***

Jensen thinks that if he has to be at some lame ass party with the lame ass kids from his lame ass school, he should at least be allowed to get really fucking wasted. But it’s Chris’s birthday weekend and he’d promised to DD, so he’s standing in the kitchen, sipping on a Coke, and wondering why his best friend wants to spend even one extra minute of his life with the very same assholes Jensen can’t wait to tell to fuck off in eight months when he finishes senior year and gets the hell out of this town, out of Texas, forever.

He sighs deeply, checks his watch, and decides that midnight is far late enough for Chris to have gotten sufficiently hammered and/or high to be taken home. He finishes off his Coke, tosses it onto the pile of beer and soda cans littering the counter, and heads out of the relative quiet of the kitchen to find his friend.

Only he searches the entire first floor and can’t find the fucker anywhere.

Jensen rubs his hands over his face, questioning for just a moment every decision that had possibly led him to this point, and goes to lap around house again.

During his second pass of the living room, the crowd that had been lounging around, chatting, and sort of half-dancing to the music is on its feet and counting down enthusiastically like they think it’s December 31st instead of late August. He’s a little taken aback, although he quick realizes what’s going on when Samantha, head of the dance team and all around bitch, flings open the door to her coat closet and yells, “Time’s up!”

Jensen is still rolling his eyes when Chris comes stumbling, literally, out of the closet, Mindy Gardner from the sophomore class sort of clinging onto his arm and getting dragged in his very unsteady wake. Jensen sighs, again (really he’s going to turn into like Edgar Allan Poe or something here), and moves in to free his friend from the clutches of needy fifteen-year-old girls.

“Jenny!” Chris hollers loudly, throwing his arms around Jensen’s neck and nearly knocking both of them over.

“Hey there, buddy. Think it’s time for us to go home,” Jensen says, fumbling Chris into a position somewhere between slouching and outright collapsing.

“Nahhhh,” Chris replies, flopping a hand in Jensen’s direction. “It’s a party! We gotta _party_ , man!”

“I think you’re all partied out. Let’s go.” He tries to get an arm around Chris’s shoulders, when he feels someone grabbing onto his own.

He turns back around and cringes inwardly. Samantha. “Come on, Jensen,” she says, or rather slurs. “Come on, it’s a  _party_.”

“Yeah, Jen,  _party_ ,” Chris parrots again. “My  _birthday_. You can’t make me do stuff on my  _birthday_. I get’o make  _you_  do stuff.” And then Chris gets that drunken gleam in his eye that means Jensen is about to end up in jail or the hospital. “You gotta  _spin_ , fucker!”

“No, Chris.” Jensen says tiredly. “Just no. We’re leaving.”

“ _Jeeeeennnnnn_. You  _gotta_ , it’s my  _birthday_. Spin!”

Jensen is trying to protest again, but the crowd around him has started chanting “Spin! Spin! Spin!” with increasing volume, and Chris is hollering his head off.

“ _Okay!_ ” Jensen yells, trying to be heard over the screaming.  _Fine_. He’ll go sit in the closet and stare at the wall with some poor girl who has to put up with his foul mood and then he will carry Chris’s drunk ass out of here and beat it tomorrow when Chris is sober enough to feel bad about what a total asshole he’s being. “Okay, Jesus. I’ll fucking spin, but then we are going the fuck home,” he growls at Chris. He thumps a finger against his friend’s chest. “Got it?”

Chris grins. “’s’all I wanted.”

Jensen turns his back on his supposed best friend and steps toward the coffee table, reaches out and grips the white plastic spinner. He gives it a twist, watches the rainbow smear become less and less blurry until finally, the little plastic needle comes to a rest.

***

“Six!” Jared hears, and he is suddenly, absolutely certain that he is going to be sick. His lungs are trying to both freeze up and hyperventilate and he can’t seem to make himself speak or move or respond in any way possible beyond the hot blush he can feel suffusing every inch of his body.

Everyone is looking around awkwardly, and Tipsy says, “Uh, who’s number 6?” in a tone straight out of a movie about how much better obnoxious high school girls think they are than everyone else.

Jared feels a hard poke in his arm, and he almost jumps off the couch, manages to contain it to a small jolt. The girl next to him is looking at him dubiously. “Hey, I’m five, so that means you’re six, right?” She raises her eyebrows at him.

“Oh,” Jared says, and his voice cracks a little, and the kids around him snort with laughter and  _can he please just die now_? He clears his throat. “Oh, right, yeah. I just—I was distracted,” he says, and somehow he’s on his feet and being pushed by a series of hands in the direction of the closet. He can hear people giggling and laughing and making cracks about something, but he’s too out of it to realize what and then he’s staring at a wall of coats with another person’s body heat behind him. He hears the door close.

He doesn’t realize he’s not breathing until he feels a hand on his shoulder and the trapped air in his lungs whooshes out with a sound that’s definitely not a whimper. Definitely not.

“Hey,” the voice says behind him, the very  _male_  voice and oh god Jared is trapped in a closet with a  _guy_  and yeah okay Jared’s known, like, objectively for a while that he really doesn’t have as much of a problem with thinking about guys  _like that_  as a Texas-raised red-blooded teenaged boy is  _supposed_ to but this is  _really not the time_ to be assessing any of those feelings.

“Don’t freak out, okay?” the voice says again. “It’s fine. We don’t—I’m not gonna do anything, okay? They’ll just make their stupid jokes and move on. They’re all too drunk to remember anything, anyway.” And maybe it’s the soothing note in the guy’s tone that probably should be patronizing but isn’t, but Jared does feel better.

Jared nods, and the guy seems to take that as a good sign because the hand on Jared’s shoulder squeezes reassuringly and drops away.

“I’m Jensen,” the voice offers after a pause, and Jared realizes how crazy he must look, staring at the wall and refusing to turn around, so he spins awkwardly in the small space.

And finds himself face-to-face with probably the most attractive guy he’s ever actually seen in person. Brown hair and freckles and big eyes with long lashes and—.

_So not the time to be assessing any of those feelings._

“I’m Jared,” he says instead of the  _holy shit_  that wants to come out of his mouth. “And uh, sorry about that. It’s just that—I mean, I—well I haven’t….” He trails off awkwardly, looks down at his feet because he can’t look at Jensen’s pretty green eyes anymore.  _Just green. Not pretty. Definitely not pretty._

“Hey, it’s cool, Jared,” Jensen says, holding his hands out gently like he thinks Jared is going to panic again. “I didn’t have my first kiss ‘til I was like sixteen and you…you’re definitely not sixteen.” Jared shakes his head, feels himself blushing again.

The silence stretches, until Jensen says. “So, uh…are you new? I haven’t seen you around before.”

“No, I just—I go to Parkview. And I’m—I’m a freshman, so….”

“A freshman?” Jensen laughs in a way that sounds like it’s at himself more than Jared. “A freshman, Jesus,” he says under his breath, and he rubs at the back of his neck.

“What?” Jared asks grumpily. “Are you gonna like…mock me? Because I get plenty of that at school, thanks.”

“No, Jared, no. Sorry, I just—nevermind.” Jensen’s letting his eyes slide away, looking anywhere but at Jared’s face. Jared’s sort of freaking out, because he’s stuck in a tiny closet with a hot guy who can’t even look at him and he has  _no idea_ what that means, but then Jensen seems to shake himself and he looks up again. “So a freshman, huh? You’re pretty tall, though. You play basketball?”

“Thinking about it. I’m know I’m pretty skinny. I don’t really look like much of a basketball player.”

“Nah,” Jensen says pleasantly, and he’s got this grin on his face that Jared can’t seem to look away from. He can feel his palms sweating. “You’re just fine,” Jensen adds, and then sort of coughs a little into his hand. “I mean, you’ll fill out, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, I hope so. I mean, my brother? He’s six-seven, so I’ve probably still got a lot of growing to do everywhere.”

Jensen just stares back it him for a minute with wide eyes. “Everywhere,” he echoes sort of faintly, and then says again, “Jesus,” and looks away. Jared feels himself blushing again for no explicable reason, until he thinks about what he just said.

“Oh god,” he groans, bringing up his hand in the confined space to press it against his forehead. “I didn’t mean…god, I’m sorry, I’m such a dork.”

Jensen laughs, but it doesn’t sound mean-spirited. “No, it’s okay, it was just….” He trails off, rubs at the back of his neck again.

“How long have we been in here?” Jared asks.

“No idea. Should be out soon enough. Those fuckers’ll make us wait the whole seven minutes and giggle at us like a bunch of middle schoolers.” Jared’s a little concerned about word getting back around to his school that he spent seven minutes in a closet with another  _guy_ , but Jensen sounds more exasperated than worried about the mockery.

“You’re not, like…worried?” Jared asks. “About…about what they’ll say about you?”

Jensen snorts. “No. Fuck ‘em. I’m outta here after graduation, and besides, it’s not like—.” He cuts off abruptly, eyes wide again. “Nevermind.”

“Not like what?” Jared presses.

“ _Nevermind_.”

“Not like  _what_?” Jared insists, and he’s not sure why he needs to know so badly, but he does. He really, really does.

***

Jensen digs his teeth into his lower lip and gives Jared an assessing look. He doesn’t know why this is so important to the kid. Even worse, he doesn’t know why he’s considering answering the question. But then really, what’s the harm? Less than a school year to survive and he’s gone for good. And this kid—this shy, blushing, awkward, completely gorgeous kid—doesn’t even go to his school, doesn’t seem to know anybody at the party. Probably wouldn’t have anyone to tell.

“It’s not like…,” he starts again, his eyes drifting away from Jared’s face before he forces his gaze back up again because he is  _not_  going to be some shy violet about this. “It’s not like they’d be wrong.”

Jared goes completely still, and Jensen is suddenly very afraid that his assessment of Jared had been completely off and he’s about to end up with knuckle-shaped bruises on his jaw. But then the kid seems to start breathing again. “Oh,” he says faintly. Pink washes over his cheeks again and Jensen wants to punch the wall because, really, that is just patently unfair. “Oh.” He looks down at his feet for a long stretch of silence. “How did—how did you know?” It’s so mumbled, Jensen almost can’t tell what he’s saying, and Jensen thinks  _oh_  to himself.  _That’s_  what Jared’s so worked up about.

Jensen shrugs. “I don’t know. I just—all my friends were talking about girls and how hot they were and what they wanted to do to them, and I just didn’t get it. And I’d catch myself staring way too intently at some guy’s back muscles in gym and stuff. And then I started dreaming about…well, you know.”

Jared looks like he’s about to say something, when there’s a call of “ _Three minutes!_ ” from outside the door. His mouth clamps shut again on a sort of squeaking sound, his face goes from pink to bright red, and Jensen’s stomach twists with how bad he feels for the kid. He remembers this, all of this—the confusion, the self-doubt, the anger at himself for just not being  _normal_.

He reaches out and puts a hand on Jared’s arm. “Jared, listen, it’s okay. It’s okay to be confused. It’s okay to not be…it’s okay to be different. You don’t have to—people aren’t going to know, okay? I haven’t told anyone, and no one knows. And when I go to college, things’ll be different.”

Jared nods slowly, lets his eyes fall closed and just breathes. Jensen takes the opportunity to study the flutter of his eyelids, the curve of his cheekbones, the way his hoodie does nothing to disguise the thinness of his chest, the breadth of shoulders already starting to develop.

“Jensen,” Jared asks, and Jensen quickly drags his eyes back up to Jared’s face, grateful when he realizes Jared’s eyes are still closed. He watches Jared’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “Will you kiss me?” It’s barely a whisper.

It feels like Jensen’s heart flips over in his chest. “Yeah, Jared,” he replies just as softly. “Yeah.”

He steps in until he can feel the heat of Jared’s chest through their clothes. Jared may be four years younger, but they’re just the same height, so he takes Jared’s chin in his hand, tilts his head gently to the left, and presses his lips to Jared’s softly parted ones. He lets himself linger for a minute against the softness of Jared’s mouth, and then he pulls back a few inches.

Jared whimpers, eyes snapping open in embarrassment, and Jensen can’t even pinpoint what color they are.

“Again?” Jensen murmurs, and Jared’s eyes fall closed again as he nods. Jensen leans back in, a little more forceful this time, let’s his tongue run along Jared’s bottom lip, feels his cock twitch as Jared’s hands come up to rest on his waist.

He pulls back just enough to say, “Open up for me, Jared,” and then he’s back in again, tongue slipping into Jared’s mouth, and  _holy shit_  Jensen can feel his chest tightening up, can feel his dick taking notice, knows he shouldn’t be so affected by just one kiss with one beautiful boy but he can’t help it. Can’t help getting both hands on Jared’s face, can’t help backing him up until the kid is crushing coats against the wall, can’t help pushing himself up against that skinny, pretty body, can’t help shifting so that his cock is pressed into Jared’s thigh and he can feel the bump of Jared’s against his own. Jared opens his mouth wider, and Jensen groans enthusiastically as the kiss grows deeper and more heated.

Jared is making the most incredible sounds into his mouth, hips shifting more and more frantically against Jensen’s leg and the friction is  _unbelievable_  and Jensen is going to come in his pants like he hasn’t since that time with Keith Jones at lacrosse camp, Jensen is going to fucking embarrass himself but he doesn’t even care because Jared’s hands are under his shirt and Jared’s kissing him in a way that’s more panting and teeth than caressing and lips and then Jared seizes up against him and moans, fingertips pressing into Jensen’s ribcage so tightly he’s sure there will be bruises tomorrow and Jensen is  _so fucking close_  and-

“Thirty seconds!” he hears from outside the door, and Jensen crashes back into reality. He’s dry humping a freshman in a closet and he’s about to have to face the people he goes to school with and he absolutely  _cannot_  have a giant wet spot on the front his pants when he does it. He pulls away.

Jared makes a choking sound, mouth open-closing like a fish a few times, like he’s trying to process what Jensen just has, only his brain isn’t exactly online because it’s mostly plastered in the giant wet spot that he actually  _does_  have on the front of his pants.

They’re both flushed and sweaty and none of this looks good, but thankfully some part of Jensen’s brain is still operating because he runs soothing hands up and down Jared’s arms and says, “It’s okay, it’s okay, just trust me,” and Jared nods frantically, and Jensen gets the kid in a headlock and starts giving him a vicious noogie and forces himself to start laughing and that’s when the door opens.

“Say uncle!” Jensen demands, and Jared’s long fingers wrap around the arm Jensen’s got around his neck.

Thankfully, Jared gets with the program, because he plucks helplessly at Jensen’s arm and says, “Okay, okay fine, you win! Uncle!” Jensen releases him and throws his hands up in victory.

“Can you believe this kid cheers for the Spurs?” he asks, all confident grin and swagger as he strolls out the closet, doing his best to draw all the attention to himself as Jared hastily steps out behind him.

Chris bellows “The  _Spurs_?” with all the indignation of a drunk man.

“I know, I know,” Jensen says, but then he turns back toward Jared and slings an arm around the kid’s neck. “Nah, you ain’t so bad, Jay-man. Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Sure, thanks,” Jared says a bit sheepishly, and Jensen gets an arm around Chris and pulls both of them out the front door.

***

Jared’s slouched in the passenger seat of Jensen’s car, pretending to stare out the window while actually trying to sneak sidelong glances at the driver’s side. Jensen’s friend is sprawled out across both back seats, singing a country song vaguely in tune and complaining about not having his guitar.

He’d given Jensen his address when he climbed in, and now he has no idea what to say. It’s not like he’s ever done this before. He can feel the come in his boxers getting dry and sticky, feel the blush so persistent that his ears are burning.

It’s too soon and not soon enough when they pull up quietly in front of his darkened house. Jared’s never had to sneak in at 1 AM before, but there’s a door on the back porch and his parents’ room is at the front of the house, so he hopes it won’t be too difficult.

He turns awkwardly to look at Jensen. “Well uh, thanks.” God that sounds stupid. “I mean—yeah.” He resists the urge to facepalm.

Jensen smiles at him. “Yeah. It was good to meet you, Jared.”

“Yeah, you too.” Jared feels like he should be doing something else, saying something else, anything other than walking away from this gorgeous guy that he’d—.

“Do you maybe—,” Jensen starts, but then falters, brings a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “Do you maybe want to hang out again sometime?”

And just like that, the knot in Jared’s stomach untwists and he can feel himself grinning like it’s a fucking holiday except this? This is way better than Christmas.

“Yes!” he says, way too enthusiastically, blushes again, takes a moment to deeply loathe his circulatory system. “I mean, yeah, that would be cool.”

“Awesome,” Jensen replies, grinning hugely back and Jared notices the little wrinkles he gets around his eyes. Jensen shifts his hips up to dig his phone out of his back pocket, and Jared definitely does  _not_  look at his crotch and remember the way Jensen’s cock had felt rutting up against his hipbone. “Lemme get your number.”

Jared has to swallow around the dryness in his mouth to give it. And then he says goodnight, waves farewell to Jensen’s now-passed out friend, and lets himself out of the car.

He even manages to refrain from doing a little victory dance until he’s out of Jensen’s line of sight.


End file.
